


Forever and For Always

by LiveLaughLoveLarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Always, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, M/M, also because they belong together, always in my heart, because I am a sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:04:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveLaughLoveLarry/pseuds/LiveLaughLoveLarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis hates the universe and its cosmic bad timing. </p><p>Or, Louis and Harry aren't together when the Always in my heart tweet becomes the second most retweeted and it hurts and so Louis decides this would be an excellent time to get drunk. Harry has the same idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever and For Always

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw [this](http://merrilylarry.tumblr.com/post/107929860288/huffleharry-someone-write-an-angsty-fic-where) and I just had to write it.  
> This was written over the course of less than 24 hours so please forgive any horrendous typos or misuse of commas.

It would have to be today, wouldn’t it. The day when it would hurt the most. The day when all he wants to do is curl up in a ball and cry. And maybe binge drink. He supposes he could be grateful, seeing as it’s saving his liver from two such episodes, but right now he hurts too much to be anything more than pissed the fuck off.

Because today is the day that the “Always in my heart” tweet passed Obama’s and became the second most retweeted ever.

And today is also the day that marks two months since Harry left. And one month since Louis realized that this time, he wasn’t coming back.

He remembers it like it was yesterday, remembers watching everything fall apart right in front of him and feeling absolutely powerless to stop it. Maybe he always will. But that doesn’t stop him from trying to erase it, however briefly, with another sip from a bottle of Jack Daniels that is far emptier than is should be considering he only opened it an hour ago.

He’d never thought it would happen. Never thought it could happen. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he started taking things for granted. (Maybe he was a broody and introspective drunk, but that was neither here nor there.)

He’d known that Harry was getting sick of the closeting, the constant lying and hiding and being forced to watch the media twist their every word and action. He’d understood. At least, he thought he had. But he’d thought Harry understood why they had to wait. Louis hated it too, but as much as it killed him to admit it, Modest was probably right. They would lose fans. They would be reduced to their sexuality and their relationship. They would be subject to taunts and insults a hundred times worse than anything they were getting now, and from a hundred times more people.

Things had reached a boiling point that night, after he’d sent out a tweet to quiet the rumours that were growing louder and louder with Harry’s increasingly inflammatory actions. They’d yelled at each other for hours – they never yelled. Not like that. Maybe that should have tipped Louis off that this time was different. But it didn’t, and he was completely blindsided when Harry walked out the door.

He’d spent three days waiting for him to come back. Three days, in which he barely slept, barely ate, leaving his spot by the door only when he had to. It took Zayn to shake him out of things again, to get him to shower and eat and call his mum.

Louis wishes that he was still of an age where a mother could fix any problem, and if she couldn’t, she could at least make it better. He wishes he still believed in miracles and true love and happily ever after. Being twenty-three fucking sucked sometimes.

At least he can legally drink, he muses, looking down at the bottle again. It’s almost empty, and a part of his brain realizes that’s probably a bad thing, but the rest of him is too hurt and sad and angry to care. Also too drunk.

He stands up unsteadily and walks into the kitchen. It’s an absolute mess, seeing as he’s not used to doing any cooking. Harry always took care of that. The pile of takeout containers sitting around the bin is a pretty good indicator for how the last few weeks have gone. It all tastes the same, though. Even Louis’ favourite egg foo young is like styrofoam in his mouth without Harry to steal it.

Louis shakes his head, which hurts, and stumbles over to the kitchen sink. It’s only half full of dishes – he gave up on using real plates after about two days – so he just adds the bottle to the pile. He catches a glimpse of himself in the darkened window above the sink and does a double take. He looks awful. His face is haggard, his hair dirty and dishevelled, and his clothes hang loose on his thin frame, despite his recent eating habits. To be fair, the shirt might be Harry’s, but it’s never been this baggy before.

Pathetic, he thinks. No wonder Harry left him.

The thought sends a pain through his chest so hard he has to catch his breath. He bends double, gasping, then slowly lowers himself to the floor. He leans back against the cabinets, his arms wrapped around his knees like they’re the only thing holding him together. It might almost be funny, if he didn’t feel like he was about to cry. Or die. He’s not sure which would be preferable just now. Either would be better than this, though, this never ending pain that is everything because Harry is in everything, Harry was his everything and now he’s gone but everything reminds him of him and-

Louis’ train of thought is cut off by an unfamiliar sound. It takes him a moment to recognize it as his mobile phone, and an even longer moment to decide whether or not to answer it. At last he sighs and digs it out of his pocket and glancing at the display: My Hazza <3

Louis drops the phone, fingers suddenly not working. What – why – it doesn’t matter. He scrambles to pick it up, to answer it before – too late. The phone clicks through to voicemail. He’s lost him. Again. Louis bites his lip as his eyes water and he swipes angrily at them with one wrist. Damn it, damn it, damn it! He was so close! To what, he doesn’t know, but something! Anything would be better than nothing. Maybe if he called back… but then he’d have to explain that the reason he hadn’t answered was because he’d been too busy crying on the kitchen floor, which would probably disgust Harry so much he’d hang up.

“Fuck!” Louis yells, and punches the cabinet, which is stupid because the cabinet is made of wood and Louis’ hand is made of flesh, which is much softer. “Fuck,” he says again cradling his bruised hand, and then again, “Fuck.”

His mobile buzzes from the floor, and Louis glances at it.

One new voicemail from: My Hazza <3

It only takes him a second to decide, and he scoops up the phone and plays the message.

“Hiiii,” Harry’s voice sings from the shitty speakers, and Louis could cry. Again. He doesn’t though, just smiles painfully as Harry giggles. “Lou, Lou, Lou, why won’t you answer me?” There’s a pout in his voice, and Louis can almost picture him, sprawled across a couch, long limbs going every which way as his full bottom lip juts out just a little. “I miss you,” Harry says, and now Louis can’t deny that he is most definitely crying.

“I miss you too, Harry,” he whispers, knowing it’s stupid but unable to help himself. Harry hiccups then, and a cold feeling settles in Louis’ stomach as he realizes that Harry is drunk. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised, but it hurts. Harry is only calling because he’s pissed drunk. It’s probably hypocritical of Louis to be upset, seeing as he’s in more or less the same state himself, but he is anyway.

“Have you seen the news?” Harry’s voice asks, oblivious to Louis’ continuing breakdown. He sounds almost chipper. “Of course you have, haven’t you. You probably saw it before I did.” He pauses, and when he speaks again he finally sounds like he might be hurting almost as much as Louis. “Did you mean it, Lou?” His voice cracks. “Did you mean what you said? Because I believed it. I believed it every damn day for three years.” A shuddering breath. “And now – now – God, I don’t even know anymore. I don’t know anything. Not without you.”

That’s the end of the message, and Louis has silent tears streaming down his face as he stares at the phone in his hand like he’s never seen it before. Hesitantly, he moves to type something, then stops. A million ‘but’s and ‘what-if’s swirl in his mind, but after only a few seconds he shakes his head. No. He’s not going to listen to that part of his brain right now.

“Hello?” says a voice in his ear that he knows almost better than he knows his own. He has to swallow hard before he can speak.

“Haz?”

There’s a pause.

“Lou?”

“Um. Yeah.”

A longer pause.

“Are you there?”

“Yeah, I – Yeah.” Louis wants to smack himself. “I got your message,” he manages.

“Oh,” Harry says, and then, “Good.”

There’s another pause, and Louis hates this awkward uncertainty between them, hates it like he’s never hated anything. It’s not supposed to be this way, they’re supposed to be easy and comfortable and the simplest thing they have in their stupidly fucked-up and complicated lives.

“So I-”

“Did you-”

They both stop.

“You go-”

“What were you-”

Another pause. It’s like a dance, a stupid, awkward dance that they both thought they knew the steps to but now they’re just tripping over each other’s feet. Louis hates dancing.

“Did you mean it?” Harry says suddenly, and it sounds like the question burst out of him. Louis is thrown off guard.

“Sorry?”

“Did you mean it?” He sounds midway between abashed and determined and Louis doesn’t know what to say.

“Mean what?” he says after a moment, stalling for time.

“Always,” Harry says simply, as though assuming Louis will know what he means, and he does, but what if he didn’t know what had happened? Then again, that sentence, that word even has been theirs since the beginning. They were always, they would always be always. It just was.

“Louis?” Harry says. There’s a quiver in his voice and Louis realizes he’s been quiet too long.

“Yes,” he says, and then says it again. “Yes, Harry, I meant it. I meant it then, and it’s still true now. It always will be. You will always be in my heart. No matter what else happens, I know that will always be true.”

There’s a pause, and Louis is balanced midway between terror and hope.

“Lou?”

“Haz?”

“I miss you.” Harry swallows, and Louis smiles as he blinks back tears. “I want you back.”

“Where are you?” Louis asks.

“Liam’s,” Harry says.

“Is he home?”

“No, he’s visiting his family for the week,” Harry says, and Louis is standing up almost before he knows what he’s doing.

“I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

It’s closer to twenty minutes by the time Louis pulls up in front of Liam’s flat. He forgot he was drunk until he tried to get into his garage and couldn’t push the button to open the door. He doesn’t feel drunk anymore, but his eyes and hands certainly aren’t sober, so. He also has no idea where his keys are – in any case, he had to grab a taxi, and he thanks his lucky stars that one was passing by at just the right time. He’s also pretty sure the driver broke at least three traffic bylaws and quite possibly never dipped below the speed limit – Louis is a terrible influence, and very persistent. He’s also grateful and rich, so he chucks a fifty quid note at the driver and scrambles out of the vehicle.

Harry opens the door the second Louis reaches it and Louis’ breath catches in his throat at the sight of Harry. No, not just Harry, Harry smiling. Harry smiling at him. Louis has to force himself not to run at him, but it’s a close thing.

After Harry closes the door behind Louis he pauses for a moment, back still turned. Louis opens his mouth to say something, though he has no idea what, but before a single sound passes his lips Harry turns and pulls him into the tightest hug he can remember. Louis responds automatically, arms rising to wrap around Harry’s back as he tucks his head into that spot between Harry’s neck and his shoulder and his chest. He breathes in, and almost cries, because Harry smells like Liam’s shampoo instead of Louis’ but he also still smells like Harry and God, Louis has missed him.

He feels Harry’s cheek press against the top of his head, his hair ruffling slightly, and even though he knows that it can’t be this simple, that they still have a lot of talking to do, Louis lets himself forget everything that’s happened for just a moment and relax into the feeling of being held and loved and happy and home. In spite of the fact that they’re standing in the entryway of Liam’s flat, this is where Louis feels like he’s home for the first time in two long, torturous months.

When they finally pull away, Louis slides his hands down Harry’s arms, not breaking contact for a second as he lightly grips Harry’s fingers in his own.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Louis says in spite of himself, and is startled when his isn’t the only voice he hears saying it. Harry looks almost as startled, and then they both laugh, and another piece of the puzzle that is Louis’ broken heart slots back into place.

“Should we…” Louis starts, and trails off. Harry grimaces slightly but nods.

“We probably should,” he says, and turns sharply, leading the way to the living room and sitting down on the couch. Louis stands awkwardly for a moment, not sure where to sit – normally he’d sit next to Harry on the couch, but things aren’t exactly normal. The other chairs are too far away, though, so he opts for the couch anyways. Of course, as soon as he sits down he discovers that the couch is just a little too short and also piled with a shit-ton of cushions, meaning it’s almost impossible for them to sit without touching. They’re silent for a moment, neither quite sure what to say or what the other is thinking. At last Louis makes an exasperated sound.

“Fuck this,” he says, and pulls his feet onto the couch, plopping them in Harry’s lap. Harry tenses for a moment, then laughs.

“Hey!” he exclaims, grabbing a cushion and chucking it at Louis. Louis laughs and responds in kind. A minute later they’re both breathless with laughter and they’ve reduced the number of cushions on the couch to one (Louis is holding onto that one in case of any more sneak attacks, thank you very much. Never mind that there are no other cushions within reach). It’s a minor miracle that they haven’t broken anything. Well. Anything expensive. Louis is pretty sure Liam won’t notice one less seashell on the end table. They’re terrible guests, really. It’s a wonder they’re allowed anywhere nice at all.

“So,” Harry says after they’ve caught their breath, and just like that the energy in the room drops noticeably. “I’m not sure what to say.” Louis bites his lip and lifts a shoulder in a half shrug.

“I don’t know either,” he says. “All I know is that these past few weeks have been hell and I want you back.” A small smile flickers across Harry’s face, but it vanishes far too quickly.

“It’s been rough,” he agrees. “But I – we can’t just jump back in and pretend like it never happened.”

“Why not?” Louis asks mulishly, and Harry frowns at him.

“Louis-”

“I know,” he interrupts. “I’m not that naive. I just…” He trails off, shaking his head. Harry bites his lip.

“Why are you so dead set against coming out?” he asks, and Louis could almost laugh with surprise. That’s Harry, he supposes. Direct, and to the point. Unless he’s telling one of his stories.

“You know why,” he says, and Harry shakes his head.

“Not really,” he says. “I just – you were as pissed as I was about everything, and then, suddenly… suddenly you were on their side.”

“I’m not ‘on their side,’” Louis says, making air quotes around the words. “I just… they’re right. It would mess everything up.”

“What does that even mean?” Harry asks in exasperation. Louis looks at him in surprise.

“I don’t know if you’re aware,” he says sharply, “but we happen to live in a world full of homophobic douchebags, many of whom would not take kindly to a couple of ‘faggots’ in a world-famous band.”

“So?” Harry says, and now Louis is completely baffled.

“So,” he says, “we’d lose fans. The media would get even more invasive and ask even ruder and more inappropriate questions. Not to mention we’d get hate that makes what we get these days look like glowing compliments.” Harry nods, looking thoughtful. And then he says something that hits Louis like a ton of bricks.

“So why do you care?”

“Wh-what?” Louis says, blinking rapidly. What on Earth is Harry talking about?

“Why do you give a shit what they think?” Harry asks. He shifts position on the couch, wrapping his hands around Louis’ feet. “If we lose fans, who the hell cares? Do you really want fans whose allegiances are swayed by the fact that we happen to like dick?” Louis is quiet for a moment, and Harry squeezes his feet gently until he looks up.

“The press will always be a load of asswipes,” Harry continues. “Whether I’m dating you or anyone else, male or female, they’ll always stick their noses and their cameras and whatever else they think they can get away with anywhere they think they can get away with it.” He shrugs. “So we don’t let them get away with it. We deal with them the way we always have – court orders, ignoring their questions, whatever. We do it together.”

“And the hate?” Louis asks, his voice small and strained. “You’ve seen what they say about us now – it would be so much worse if we came out.”

“Fuck them,” Harry says immediately. “Well, actually, don’t – fuck me.” That startles a laugh out of Louis, and Harry grins and moves closer to him. “Seriously, Lou, they don’t deserve any say in how we live our lives. They’re a bunch of pathetic losers with no life, and the only pleasure they get is from making other people feel like shit.”

“But I-” Louis doesn’t even realise that his fingers are worrying the fringe on the cushion until Harry’s hands wrap around his, stilling them.

“I love you,” Harry says, looking Louis dead in the eye. “You are beautiful and talented and loving and kind and smart and generous and so many kinds of wonderful that I can’t list them all, though I’m willing to try. I know that with absolute certainty, and I know you, so I think my opinion counts for a lot more than that of some random jerk from the internet.”

Louis nods slowly. “You really think that about me?” he asks before he can lose his nerve. Harry looks surprised, but doesn’t hesitate.

“Of course.”

“Why?”

Harry’s brow wrinkles in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I hurt you,” Louis says, eyes downcast. “I yelled at you and wouldn’t listen to you and I was too proud and selfish and scared to do anything to fix it. How can you believe all those good things about me when I’m such an asshat back to you?” Harry blinks at him.

“Louis,” he says, “I’m going to say this very clearly: I love you.” Louis rolls his eyes, but Harry presses on. “You have been my everything for four years and yes, sometimes you can be selfish or petty, but nobody is perfect all of the time. That’s just human nature. We screw up. And then we try to do better next time. That’s what matters. We try. You try.” Harry rests his hands on Louis’ shoulders. “You are a good person,” he says, “whether you believe it or not. And I will remind you that every day for the rest of forever. In the morning, in the afternoon, during dinner, before bed, when you’re feeling shitty, when you’re feeling on top of the world, whenever. You are absolutely perfect to me, and I never want you to think anything different.”

Louis can’t resist any longer, he surges up and kisses Harry, grabbing his arms and pulling him down. Harry is caught off guard and falls heavily against Louis’ chest, but he doesn’t miss a second in returning the kiss with equal passion, and Louis has missed this, missed it almost as much as he missed Harry. Second place, probably, tied with everything else that he and Harry ever did and that he didn’t ever want to do alone again.

“I love you,” he whispers against Harry’s lips, not wanting to pull away for a second. “I love you so much.”

Things aren’t fixed yet, they both know – they’ll have a lot more talking to do later, and probably a good bit of crying as they figure out how to compromise, but they know one thing: whatever happens, they’ll do it together. The way they were always supposed to be.


End file.
